Return Fire, page 13
part #5 of The Sand Wars Series
Night lighting made the obsidite flooring glow gently rose. She moved through it as though she walked barefoot over embers, eyeing doors as she passed them. She was trapped until she reached the corridor's end, where there would be access doors. Once there—Amber pushed discouraging thoughts out of her mind. Even if she could get through those doors, there would be no way she could keep her passage from being recorded.
Amber flattened herself to the wall and leaned out to eye the juncture. The door was open! It was closing slowly, grit or other minute obstacles in its track, retarding its slide. She threw secrecy to the wind and gained the door frame as it shut, catching a pinch of her shoe sole as she leaned outside.
Amber winced as she walked forward. The door had evidently caught her foot as well, it felt stone bruised at the heel. She wondered if the security cameras had caught enough of her to ID her. Jack would skin her alive for taking chances like this—if Pepys didn't catch her and skin her first. She rubbed her wrist, mourning the loss of some expensive equipment. Untraceable, of course, but regrettable nonetheless.
She took a deep breath and left the security of the building's shadow. Even as she pushed away, the floodlights blazed on, white-hot circles of betrayal in the night. Amber dodged blindly.
A huge hand wrapped about her elbow, drawing her into his umbra against the security floods.
"A second time ill-met, my lady Amber."
Her heart tumbled in her chest as K'rok drew her closer against his form. She could feel the rumble in his hairy chest as he said quietly,
"Your kind are not seeing well in the dark, I am thinking. Stand upon my feet and walk with me—they are seeing only my back."
He embraced her even more closely, walking her across the palace grounds. She heard shouts from behind, smelled his ursine, musky, and slightly rank odor. The beat of his heart (hearts?) sounded in her ear as he called back, "I've seen nothing—off-duty I am, and leaving."
A voice instructed him to take prisoner any unauthorized personnel he might encounter, adding, "If you please, Commander K'rok."
"I will!" Then, softly, "And it be pleasing me not."
"What are you doing?"
"Getting you away from here. You do not take warnings well."
"No."
K'rok made a noise that sounded like a growl. His immense, shaggy body dwarfed hers. He could snap her spine like a twig. "You should be knowing this by now. You must stay away."
"My business here is finished."
They were nearing the boundary sector, which was always well lit and patrolled. Amber faded into the overhanging branches of a tree, saying, "I'll be all right from here."
The lumbering Milot came to a halt. "I be thinking not. The Minister of War is no fool. Stay there. I will bring back a car." He loped away, shaggy head bent in determination.
Amber hugged the tree, bark scratching her chin. She found herself quaking in the aftermath of adrenal shock. She would have to trust K'rok, she had no one else to turn to within reach.
The car came to a halt. The door opened but a crack. She crawled along the ground and got in, twining her slim frame about K'rok's immense booted feet. In the shadowy interior, she was barely perceptible.
"Where to?"
"Under-Malthen. Any bar you want. I can alter the travel records." Her voice was muffled as she hid the paleness of her face in the crook of her black-sleeved arm.
K'rok grunted and jammed the car into motion. They were through the security gates and on the main thoroughfare when she heard the alarms go off, and all exits were closed.
The Milot let out an audible sigh, then rumbled down at his feet, "Are you going to stay there?"
"Yes," Amber said weakly. She doubted if she had the strength to move, just yet.
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know. Somewhere safe." She thought of Colin, and discarded it. Denaro was suspect, and Pepys knew she had sheltered with Colin before. She would not visit the emperor's scrutiny upon the Walker again, not for her sake. She lay hugging the Milot's boots and listening to the hovers whine in the floor under her ear, plotting her course. Suddenly, she knew where to have K'rok take her.
She had fallen asleep. K'rok nudged her gently a second time and Amber roused.
He growled, "After driving half the night, we appear to have arrived somewhere."
She sat up. The night was as dark as it could get, and the building before them stood immense, squat, and impregnable, white stone side catching what little glimmer was available from the moon. She saw the numerous security cameras, operating on filters, and smiled to herself. The woman she sought was still in residence here.
"What is it?" K'rok asked. "A tomb or temple?"
"No." She opened the car door. "Sadie is a pawnbroker." She pointed out the tunnel entrance. "This place is like an iceberg—four-fifths of it is underground." Amber shut the door and paused. "Thank you, commander," she said finally.
He nodded his head. "You are welcome. Tell me, if you would…" he stopped.
She knew what he wanted to ask. She smiled gently and said, "Last I heard he was still alive and kicking."
The Milot grinned hugely. "Thank you! And now, lady Amber, it is getting late. I must have time to get drunk enough to make my time away from the barracks to be believed."
She stepped away from the car and watched it whistle away, the immense frame of the Milot taking up the view through the back shield. Servos whined as cameras turned and stayed trained as she entered the tunnel gates.
"I have no appointment," Amber repeated for the tenth time. "I would just like to talk with Sadie and see if we can solve a problem I have." She stood wearily before the massive door, its overhead frame sculpted with the three ball symbol of the pawnbroker, and listened as the computer replied, "Madame is not to be disturbed—"
"Oh, but I am." The viewscreen filled with a massive woman, shot from the bosoms up, with dimples not only in her ample chins, but her bared shoulders as well. Sleep had tousled her dyed curls, but her eyes were far from puffy. Sadie eyed her alertly. "Who is it? Come out of the shadow there. I won't let you in if I can't identify you."
Amber put her shoulders back and stepped out, brushing her hood from her head, releasing her hair from its confinement as the woman muttered something about guests without manners and invitation disks.
Sadie stopped in mid-gesture. "Good heavens. Amber, is that you?"
"Yes, madam."
"Good heavens. The girl has become a woman. Where's Jack?"
She had already made certain plans while waiting for an audience. "Jack is dead."
"Posh. I know what the newscasts reported. Show me the body, and I'll believe Jack Storm is dead. I never saw a better survivor." The strangely alluring bulk of the woman adjusted on the couch. "What do you need, honey?"
"Sanctuary," Amber said, and fainted dead away on the doorstep.
* * *
Chapter 18
« ^ »
I won't say your help's not appreciated," the base commander said, as they sat wearily down to eat in what was left of the mess. Soot darkened their faces. The work force hunched with bowed shoulders over cold rations, and their talk was muted with weariness. But they could afford to talk of victory, for the Thraks had been driven back, and only one Talon had been lost, along with a half-completed dome and two supply sheds. In the background, noise rumbled from bulldozers already back at work restoring the runways.
Staub added, "But you present me with a problem. Policy tells me that I cannot let you go free."
"I want to stay," Jack said. He paused with his fork in hand as Skal added, "Let me near a river and you cannot keep me." The otterlike tail twitched in emphasis.
The commander looked at Skal. "You, sir, as a representative of local government, should be treated as an ambassador. However, since we're not here in any official capacity…" the auburn-haired man let his voice trail off and shrugged.
"You would have no capacity if we had not intervened," the Fisher returned. He looked down at his plate and stirred the rations into a stew, meat, fruit, and vegetable compounds unrecognizable. Then he lifted a forkful, sniffed delicately, and began to eat. "Might you have beer?"
Staub's hazel eyes looked a bit glazed but he said hastily. "Yes, of course. The refrigeration section was undamaged by the strafing." He snapped his fingers and a string bean of an adjutant took his request.
"With all due respect," Jack interrupted, drawing the commander's attention back to him, "I don't see how you can afford to refuse any help you can get. Consider my performance against the Thraks a demonstration of armor's capabilities. I know you can appreciate that."
"I can appreciate it, but I can't trust it." Staub was a man of easy authority, broad-shouldered, with a thick waist that might later tend toward roundness but now was flat. Despite the red hair, he had a complexion that tanned nicely, and the sun had etched a network of wrinkles about his gray-green eyes. He was apparently ten years Jack's senior. He had workman's hands: square, competent, solid. He drummed the tabletop for emphasis now with his left. "We've been told to look out for you, Storm. Word is you're operating as Pepys' agent."
As Skal spewed a mouthful of food back onto his plate, Jack said smoothly, "I'm dead, as far as Pepys knows."
"I remember you," the commander said. "The business at Lasertown was reported as underground. You have a reputation for doing an agent's work."
Jack smiled at the irony. Everything he'd done at Lasertown had been in his own interest. Pepys had downplayed the entire situation, neither disavowing it nor claiming it in his own interest. But telling the tale was not something he had time for. Staub was unsure, it was time to convince him before he made his mind up.
The aide returned with three cartons of beer. Skal made a great deal of noise opening his up before lifting the now foaming container to his muzzle. Jack took advantage of the break in conversation.
"I'd have come to you the conventional way, with even more suits, but I was ambushed at Gibbon's on Malthen."
There was a sparkle deep in Staub's eyes, but he, too, turned his attention to the beer, saying, "Who?"
Jack ignored him. "Then I found my way to Skagboots' Retreads on Victor Three. Bootsie was very interested in my armor, but we got interrupted by a routine freebooters' strafing run."
Staub looked amused. "It sounds hazardous to be conversing with you."
Jack looked up at the great rent overhead in the mess hall. "I think you're done for the day," he answered.
"Mm." The commander paused for a moment, took some updated damage reports from his aide, made some decisions and delegations, then turned his attention back to Jack. "It's a long way from Skagboots' to here."
Skal bared his too sharp teeth. "That was my fault, commander. I intercepted him and asked him to come with me. My world had a… pest problem… I was most anxious to solve."
"Meaning us?"
The Fisher nodded.
"I see." Staub took a deep drink of his beer. He made a face as he swallowed. "We've been dumping excess fuel and duds before coming back in to land. It's a sloppy habit. I apologize, Skal, to you and your Elders. I'll send out cleanup details, if you'll allow us to set up an official dump."
"What does he mean?"
"He means a plane can't come in safely carrying overallowances of fuel or firepower. It's usually jettisoned over uninhabited areas… swamp or marshland. But," and here Jack scratched his temple where his eyebrow met it, "all of Mistwald is swamp or marshy. They're used to having filtration islands set up in those bog areas, to pick up the toxics…"
"The method you talked to me about."
"Yes."
Skal laid his tail on the table, the portion that would reach. The gesture unnerved both Jack and the Green Shirt commander. The Fisher stroked his pelt, which was as sleek there as anywhere. He looked up. "The location is different and may be difficult to reach, but it is all one body," he said. "My grooming is as important here as anywhere." He curled the tip. "There is no backwater on Mistwald."
"I see what you mean." Staub reached for his beer quickly as Skal lashed his tail back, nearly upsetting the cartons. "Your—ah—point is well taken. Chrysler!"
The string bean of an aide leaned down.
"Get cleanup details formed as soon as possible. We've been polluting major waterways."
The aide nodded and left the mess.
Skal finished his rations and looked about appraisingly. He noticed the empty place setting at Staub's elbow and pointed his fork at it. "My condolences, commander, for the death of an honored one."
The redhead looked quickly, then shook his head. "That's not because of the raid. It's for the founders of the movement. We lost our leadership to the Sand Wars."
"Yet you carry on."
"In our way, though—" Staub halted abruptly, noticed the listening silence around the long table and smiled. "The Green Shirts do whatever they can."
"You didn't get where you are today by not taking chances. Can you afford to turn me and what I offer down?"
"If you're a beacon by which Pepys locates this base, I can't afford to keep you." The man met Jack's eyes with a level stare of his own. "What is worth the risk?"
"I can give you Pepys' head on a platter."
There was a startled silence throughout the mess, then Staub put his head back and laughed, breaking the tension, and Jack could hear the babble of excited voices start again.
When Staub quieted, he said, "Make a martyr of the emperor and we will never replace the chain of command."
"Of course not. But I can give you evidence first that will erode public confidence in him—start an outcry that will demand he be replaced."
"You're a Knight. Why would you want to do such a thing?"
"Because," Jack said, leaning forward on an elbow, "I didn't swear to Pepys. I was sworn to Regis."
Disbelief flickered across the commander's face. "Regis? Impossible. That was—what—twenty-five years ago? You're scarcely older than that. You'd have to be my age."
"How long have you been a Green Shirt?"
Skal sat back in his chair, holding his beer close to his chest, enjoying the conversation.
"Since the Sand Wars," Staub answered Jack.
"I don't know how the chain of command works here," Storm continued. "Or how long you've been underground. There was a captain of the Knights who spoke to the Dominion Congress last year, before the Alliance."
Staub's attention sharpened. "There were rumors."
"Good ones. I was that captain, soon to be a commander."
"The one found in cold sleep?"
"Yes, I was found on that transport, the only one who lived to tell the tale."
"My God." Staub pushed away from the table as if denying it and all that he had heard. "It's impossible."
"You heard the rumors." Jack wet his throat with the last of his beer, and waited.
"Then where have you been?"
"Staying alive," Jack answered. "At first, the Green Shirts who found me hid me for reasons of their own… and then I found it safer to hide under the hem of the emperor's own robe. Learning who betrayed us on Milos… who betrayed us throughout the Sand Wars. I was betrayed again when we allied with the Thraks."
"We were all betrayed," a smoke-hoarse voice threw in.
Jack nodded. "And now that I've learned what I have, it's time to take action, but I need help for that."
Staub stood up. "If you're telling the truth, you've one hell of a story."
"And if he isn't, commander, we can take care of him later." A wing captain, two seats back from Jack, spoke up. He drew his commander's attention.
"And if I am," Jack said, "I can give you what the Green Shirts desperately need: public sympathy, Dominion support."
"How?"
Jack paused. "We raid Klaktut."
The commander's laugh was short and bitter. "Now I know you are crazy. You Knights lost your asses in there last year. Raiding a crèche planet? You're lucky the Thraks didn't slaughter every one of you."
"What you don't know is that Pepys told them we were coming."
"What?"
Jack nodded. "They were waiting for us. We did a lot of damage anyway—gave them a show of strength that Pepys was counting on. It was that raid which made Tricatada decide to propose the Alliance. But what Pepys didn't count on was what we saw."
Staub sat down again, slowly. He wet his lips in apprehension. "What… did you see?"
"Farms of humans, bred for food and slaughter. People we assumed lost to the Sand Wars, still alive. Hopeless, but alive. We knew the Thraks were murderers. We didn't know they were human eaters." Jack stood up, raising his voice. "There is a story of courage and misery in every captive we bring back—a story of a life that was betrayed so that Pepys might bring down Regis and gain a throne. And even for those we can't bring back, a clean death might be a mercy."
"I can't… I can't authorize a deepspace action," Staub said. He scrubbed a rough hand through his auburn hair.
"But you want to."
"Yes. Yes, by damn. I'll take you to Klaktut."
"Then get authorization."
Staub looked to Skal. "That means more cradles and a larger base."
The Fisher shrugged. "If you can keep it clean, as Jack has told me you can, I see no reason why the Elders would not agree. As long as it is temporary."
Staub gave a savage grin. "Then excuse me, gentlemen. I have a call to put through."
* * *
Chapter 19
« ^ »
The pawnbroker's home was gracious inside, crowded with remnants of other days, some beautiful and some homely, all of them precious in their antiquity. Amber glided through the clutter with pantherlike grace. It was a game she had played before—how close could her cuff or sleeve come to toppling something without actually touching it? Sadie's eyes glittered as she watched her guest. Amber kept her half-smile hidden behind a curtain of tawny hair and came to a stop, kneeling at her hostess' chaise.
The woman touched her head in what might have been a caress. "Feeling better, I see?"
